


Wires Crossed

by irisbleufic



Series: One Step Away 'Verse (& Related Excursions) [10]
Category: Back to the Future (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Phone Calls & Telephones, Phone Sex, Science Boyfriends, Science Husbands, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 13:32:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5207690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"We've talked about this," Marty sighed. "I'm gonna sound ridiculous."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wires Crossed

**Author's Note:**

> This is another  **[OSA 'Verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/322148) ** extra that can, as per usual, be read as a stand-alone if you wish. I can directly blame Edgebug for this; the agreement was that if they drew Marty in that get-up Tiff stuck him in, then I'd write a hilariously awkward attempt at phone sex. This is roughly equivalent to that time I wrote  **[Aziraphale and Crowley attempting to video-chat](http://archiveofourown.org/works/728117/chapters/1352099) ** in CoT. There is a glancing reference in this piece to one of my other fandoms' fic-verses because the chronology lined up; they feel like a base-canon pair that could be happening in the same continuum. I've decided it shall be so (this is also for you, Pai: you know why).

**September 21, 1991**

Marty got back to the apartment shortly after six o'clock in the evening with his arms full of groceries and take-out from Su Hong. He could've cooked with the groceries, but he didn't have the patience after that day's mandatory make-up master class (too fucking early in the semester to have to blow five hours on one of those, and on a _Saturday_ , no less). He was glad he only had one year left on the M.Ed. Coasting into his sixth consecutive year of higher education, he was nothing short of _exhausted_. And here Doc had up and left him for the weekend.

Once he'd gotten the groceries, mostly dry goods and jars of pasta sauce, put away, he pulled the cartons of fried rice, crab rangoon, and General Tso's chicken out of their several layers' worth of packaging. While he fixed a plate, he considered turning on the television, but it didn't take him long to remember that he'd shut off the radio in his truck that day twice already, once on his way to class and once on the way home, because [that ongoing Massachusetts boarding-school hostage situation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1049153) was all anybody seemed to want to talk about. Given the profession he hoped to enter, the whole idea left him feeling desolate. He couldn't imagine not being able to aid his students; that Parker guy who was stuck on the outside seemed like an absolute pillar of strength.

Marty took his dinner back to the bedroom and popped in an old cassette tape: Alphaville's _Forever Young_. He'd always loved the title track; it made him nostalgic for Doc's jukebox, to which Doc had access this weekend, the lucky bastard. They were in the habit of spending weekends back in Hill Valley with Einstein at the rebuilt Estate, as Tiff Tannen _did_ need a break from dog-sitting for them every once in a while. Doc had also promised her a gaming day, which the two of them literally hadn't had in months. Marty guessed that's probably what they'd been doing while he was stuck swearing over how much he sucked (so far) at classical guitar technique.

He had gotten about halfway through the album _and_ his food when he decided to set his plate down on the floor and doze for a while. If Doc didn't have the sense to be on time for their agreed-upon long distance rendezvous, then Marty might as well make the most of his peaceful environment. When the phone on the night-stand finally rang, the tape had long since clicked over to radio silence and the remainder of his food had gone cold. Nerves jangling, he answered.

"You're like forty-five minutes late calling, you know that, Doc?" Marty demanded, glancing at his alarm clock. "I'm gonna hope that you and Tiff beat that new game's ass, and that it was worth it."

" _Road Rash_ , while having provided over seven hours of action-packed entertainment, hardly measures up to the sound of your voice," Doc admitted, the warmth of his tone so welcome that Marty melted further into his pillow. " _You_ know how much she'd been looking forward to this game's release, however. It means a great deal to me that she waited till I got here to play."

"Doctor Emmett Brown, Sega Genesis junkie," Marty yawned. "Who'd have thought? Not me."

"I hope you've been insulating yourself against the latest headlines," Doc said cautiously. "I'd hate for you to be losing sleep while I'm gone. That school situation's gone from bad to worse."

Marty's eyes flew open, his alertness returning in a matter of seconds. "I'd rather hear it from you, Doc. If I'm gonna be a teacher, I can't just hide from this stuff. It's a thing that could happen, right?"

"To you?" Doc echoed, sounding so numb that Marty felt like a dick for having been realistic. "God forbid, Marty, after what you've already been through. I'm afraid there was a fatality this afternoon."

Marty sat up, chilled to the bone, smooshing both his pillow and Doc's behind him so he could sit up against the headboard. "Jesus Christ, then those cartel guys aren't bluffing. They're serious?"

"They'll regret shooting the son of a mob boss, I can tell you that much," Doc sighed. "As far as I'm aware, that Jersey-based New York kingpin Trotta has no West Coast interests, but there's not a man, woman, or child in this country who hasn't heard his name by now. The boy was only seventeen." Doc paused, the silence uncomfortably charged. "It's a damn shame. NBC Nightly did a piece on the family. The kid, Joey—known locally to have had talent. He was a musician."

 _This is exactly the kind of thing I don't want to hear_ , Marty thought, ignoring the uncomfortable tightness in his chest. "I don't wanna think about that," he said. "Let's just talk, okay? I know you probably put on the news as soon as Tiff hit the road, but...let's leave it."

"My apologies," Doc said, and Marty could hear him shifting, probably on the living-room sofa, muttering to Einstein— _Get down, boy!_ —as he stretched out. "Would you like to hear about the game? The take-turns aspect was a disappointment for Tiff; she's too impatient."

"Did you at least beat her?" Marty asked, grinning in spite of himself. "She may be a better driver than you are, Doc, I hate to say it. She grew up around shit with wheels. She _knows_ bikes."

"It certainly shows," Doc agreed, sounding oddly sheepish. "She won all but one of the matches."

"What's her dating situation?" Marty asked, peeling off his socks. "Still seeing Isadine Wilson?"

"Yes, but I've inferred from Tiff's grumbling that they may be on the rocks," Doc said, troubled by this development. "She was on her way to meet up with Louis and the crew when she left here."

"Well, I hope they sort it out," Marty replied, "because I think they're pretty good together, too."

"Tiff seems restless," Doc reflected. "She wants to get on with her future, but it's slow going."

"That's what a brutal place like CalTech will do to you, jeez," Marty said. "She's a real trooper."

"She got in a few digs at us. Our so-called perfect relationship," said Doc, dryly. "Do you agree?"

Marty considered this for a few seconds, staring at the hairline-cracked plaster ceiling. He was going to have to mention that to Marjane, the landlady, who lived downstairs. "I recognize that we've had far fewer fights than most other couples we know," he said. "We started from a solid basis of friendship, though. Not everybody has that huge advantage. I don't take it for granted."

"I consider myself the luckiest man alive," Doc said without missing a beat, completely earnest.

"I miss you," Marty sighed, shifting on the mattress. "All this bad news is giving me the jitters."

"What are your plans for the rest of the evening?" Doc asked. "What can I do to distract you?"

Marty adjusted the mouthpiece under his chin, running his fingers over the soft, rumpled nest of sheets. He'd slept alone last night, and he wasn't looking forward to another two nights alone. Doc was staying in Hill Valley through Monday to run some errands. "You're not here, so telling you what I want would be kind of a moot point," Marty admitted. "And a shameless tease, too, Doc."

"Who said I'd be averse to a little teasing?" asked Doc, his tone unexpectedly coy. "What is it?"

"We were working on all these goddamn gorgeous Gaspar Sanz pieces," Marty said, frustrated. " _Trying_ to, anyway. Professor Gutierrez was playing circles around us. Seventeenth-century Spanish stuff, incredible. _Canarios_ , _Villanos_ , stuff like that. Those recordings I played you back in August. They're romantic, so sue me! I was fantasizing about playing them for you on the drive home, like..." Marty shifted, picking at his shirt. "Like I do."

"I'd like you to play them for me once I'm home," Doc said. "No matter how much work you think they still need." He took a slow breath, and Marty could hear him shifting, too, like he was trying to get comfortable. "In the meantime, would you indulge me in the matter of an experiment?"

"We've talked about this," Marty sighed. "I'm gonna sound ridiculous. Not sexy at all, Doc."

"Then would you care to explain why listening to you just now got me all hot and bothered?"

Marty's stomach dropped through the floor again, but in a distinctly thrilling fashion. "Wait, do you mean to tell me my pathetic whining about master class _turned you on_?" he demanded.

"At this point, you could've talked about the cracking plaster and it would've worked," Doc said.

"Guess you've noticed that, too, huh," Marty sighed, sinking back into more of a sprawl against the pillows. If this was a thing that was going to happen, then he might as well let it. "Hey, Doc?"

"What is it?" asked Doc, with an edge of impatience. He was half-distracted, which was likely indicative of hands busy elsewhere. Marty imagined him unfastening his button-down and rucking up his undershirt; if Marty hadn't been slightly want-stricken before, then he was now. "Marty?"

"I'm no expert in dirty-talk or anything, but I'm kinda thinking this is the part where I tell you I'm hard, too, and we forget about the plaster just like we forgot about the news, got it?" Marty said, pinning the phone between his cheek and his shoulder while he undid the buttons of his shirt.

"Then my hypothesis is, thus far, correct," Doc said, the punctuation of his breath indicating that he'd flicked something aside—onto the floor or onto the coffee table. "The sounds of our voices, coupled with even vague or humorous innuendo, are sufficient to incite—"

"If you keep that up, I'm not gonna last too long," Marty teased, with a breathless huff of laughter. He didn't bother to shrug out of his shirt, because he hadn't bothered with an under-layer. Better to move on to his jeans and get them out of the way, leave just enough garments in place to tease himself.

"If you're being facetious, then this _might_ prove counterproductive," said Doc, hesitantly; Marty felt kind of sorry for unapologetically goofing off when they'd just started getting somewhere. Doc sighed like something in him had finally had enough, had just _snapped_. "I've had a long, tiring day in which I spent an unreasonable number of hours in front of the television. I'd like nothing so much as to hold you right now. My intention is to make you forget everything that's upset you."

"You're doing a great job of that already," Marty told him, brushing his knuckles along the underside of his erection. He let his breath hiss out through his teeth, enjoying the fact that, if he closed his eyes, it was a reasonable approximation of how it felt when Doc teased him through his underwear. "You know that thing you, _ah_ , do with your knuckles? I'm doing it for you."

"I'm grateful," murmured Doc, and there was some more distinct rustling on his end of the line. "I hope it will please you to know that I'm doing my best approximation of _your_ hand down my—"

Marty pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, choking back laughter. "I can't believe this," he said at length, giving in to a hysterical giggle. "How about you let me do most of the talking, Doc? You seem kinda uptight over there. I think you need to relax and let me—"

"What I _need_ is for you to imagine that I've stopped teasing you and gotten your..." Doc trailed off, taking another one of those tantalizingly unsteady breaths. "What are you wearing?"

 _See under SHIT I NEVER EXPECTED TO HEAR OUT OF DOC'S MOUTH_ , Marty thought, whistling sharply, enjoying the shiver down his spine. "The dark grey ones," he said, tempted to hold his breath.

"Pity," Doc said, his voice gone low and rough. "You know I have a preference for the teal."

"It was a fucking four-pack my mom got me for Christmas!" Marty protested. "What the hell do you want from me? I could go put on the red ones, I guess, or even the purple ones, but the teal pair's in the laundry, and that's that!" He tossed the phone aside for a few seconds, shucking out of his underwear in a hurry. "There, Doc," he said, retrieving the phone as he settled back in. "Underwear off." He squirmed against the sheets, his breathing strained. "Doc, are you—?"

"Not wearing a single thing," Doc muttered, a hint of challenge in his tone. "Not anymore."

"Oh, _hi_ ," Marty sighed, closing his eyes, utterly content. Picturing Doc naked was second nature by now; the past six years hadn't been without their challenges, but every last one of them had been worth what he got in return. "You still have no idea how fucking sexy you are, do you?"

"I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I now know how attractive I am _to you_ ," Doc said. "As for you, Future Boy, I don't think there's a soul on this planet who'd disagree with me when I say—" he licked his lips, and Marty knew right away whatever was about to come next was going to curl Marty's toes "—that every inch of you is so easy on the eyes as to be absolutely _unfair_."

"Every inch of me?" Marty echoed, stroking himself at that light, yet demanding clip _Doc_ was so unfairly good at. "Do I detect some double entendre there, or— _jeez_ —am I imagining things?" Marty bit his lip, realizing he'd made a huge mistake. "Fuck. _Fuck_."

"Are you all right?" Doc asked, his gentle, all-encompassing focus wrapping Marty in the sense that Doc was right there watching him with a mix of desire and concern. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you _here_ , Doc!" Marty gasped in frustration, tightening his grip. "But that's not possible, so..." He shifted his hips and found the right angle at which to thrust, planting his feet against the mattress. " _Jesus_. Okay. Who am I kidding? I love it when you talk. I don't even care what you say. I was joking before, seriously; this is so damn hot I can't even—"

"The reminder is heartening," Doc said, and Marty could practically _hear_ his smile. " _Shhh_ , don't overwork yourself. Marty," he said soothingly. "I can hear you."

Something in Doc's inflection at that moment, the unabashed tenderness with which he said it, set Marty's skin on fire. "What do I—fuck— _sound_ like to—to you—then, Doc? Huh?"

"Like you're very much in need of every last shred of attention I can give," Doc said quietly, and Marty wondered why it had taken him this long to notice that Doc's voice had that telltale ragged edge to it. "Like you want nothing so much as to hold out until I've caught up with you, _which_ —" Doc's breath, forced past his teeth, was electrifying "—I _have_."

"Oh," Marty whimpered. Too late, too late, too _late_ if Doc wasn't actually coming, because, goddamn it, he _was_. "Why the hell aren't you here, why the _hell_ aren't you—!"

It took about thirty seconds' harsh panting—thirty seconds of lying there in stunned, companionable silence shared across a distance that could only be driven in hours—before Doc finally spoke.

"I hope it's not a rash assumption on my part," he ventured, "to call this venture a success?"

"Nah, Doc," Marty replied. "Co-signed." He grinned at the ceiling, cracked plaster and all.


End file.
